Atlas, At Last
by piscespieces
Summary: Ravion the Light is known throughout for his medical practice and his service to others. His granddaughter Althea travels with him as an aspiring cartographer and hopes to earn a title on her own merits, not her birthright. At the height of their journey, they encounter the company of Thorin Oakenshield, where Althea is graced with the opportunity to claim her own legacy.
1. Of the Light

Incredible artwork credit seen in the cover goes to **kinko-white** from deviantart.  
Give her some love, everyone.

* * *

The Lord of Rivendell gazed peacefully west, and drank in the sight of the golden light bathing his home. He watched the sunset warming the leaves, blessing the waters, and enchanting his kin. From the stone balcony where he stood, Elrond felt himself being re-energized by the brilliant glow... Only another hour before hosting another dinner for the company. Elrond grimaced at the impending exhaustion.

And suddenly, the sound of trots.

He heard two sets of hooves amble from a distance. They were light, and strong. But it was not that belonging to an elvish colt- too free willed and spirited did their steps sound.. Though, nor were they heels of creatures domesticated by Men of Middle-earth- too noble, historic and sublime were their strides.

Ah?  
What was this?  
Oh. Of course..

He reminisced of years long ago of the Second Age in the great island of Númenor, a kingdom that lay in the Great Sea between Middle-earth and the blessed realm of Aman. These steeds belonged to a rich history: their ancestors, inhabitants of meadows in a country that was the gray of where heaven stopped and earth began. Only the few, the distinguished were able to hone horses of this caliber- and their equestrianism unmatched by all, save for that of the Valar.

Only the children of the Isle of Elenna. The descendants of the fallen Númenóreans, the Kings among Men. The peoples, Dúnedain.

Elrond looked to his visitors, and was pleased to see his judgment right. Before him were two hooded Men on massive steeds, foreign to any of their kind on the continent.

"Ravion the Light," Lord Elrond bowed low and graciously, til they could see the back of his silver circlet glistening, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The larger figure removed his threadbare cowl, and shook loose his silver hair to have it blown away from his eyes. He was an aging man, whose appearance landed him in the range of early 50s. From his face, one could tell he was a man that has seen adventures, many perils, and many thrills. Time had only recently caught up to him. Though his clothes betrayed him, he was well groomed, well mannered, well spoken.

"You owe me nothing but a bed and a meal," Ravion laughed, dismounting his great horse, bred selectively generations after generations since the time they roamed freely in the grasslands of Mittalmar. Those lands were now only mentioned in tales of old. He propped himself on one knee by the steps, as if pledging allegiance to a king, and looked up at the Lord.

It seemed as though they stood in mirrors, a reflection showing a different dimension of status: An earthly traveler, cloaked in worn leather having seen too many harsh winters facing a Lord enrobed and cherished by satin and sun. And yet, they matched equally in regal demeanor. There was a balance in the opposites, as they have carried a piece of each other in themselves for decades past and centuries to come.

Elrond exhaled deeply through his nose; tired of formalities, tired of being a servant of the conventions of elvish hospitality. The dwarves had him weary and drained. Just a few hours before Ravion's delightfully unexpected arrival, the company had mercilessly pillaged the fountains of Rivendell- one by one, each wellspring basin fell victim to the long overdue washes of naked children of Aulë. He closed his eyes and suppressed the instinct to shudder at the thought. All he wanted, all he _needed_ was to share a round of miruvórë and a long evening with his confidant.

Ravion stood up, and they met each other at eye level. It was then when Elrond realized the man of vigor he once knew was now vulnerable to the perils of time.

"Elendil... you have aged, _mellonamin_," Elrond whispered, shaking his head at the wrinkles on the face and the graying hair of his long time friend. It was surreal, and almost too difficult to grasp. He had forgotten about the fragility and mortality of Men, even that of the Dúnedain, who possessed lifespans three times longer than those dwelling in Middle-earth. The reminders always hurt.

"You are mistaken, we have both aged. My youthful appearance has only been replaced by wisdom, and being so inexperienced, yours has yet to set is all," Ravion spoke in a low whisper, as if it were the secret to the rejuvenation of elves. Elrond laughed generously, the loudest and the most cheerfully he had been in a while, and patted Ravion's cloaked shoulders.

The host looked to the other cloaked Man, a bit puzzled, but finally settled when he saw the quietly humble expression on Ravion's face. Elrond nodded, motioning for the second guest to come forth.

Still hooded, Ravion's companion stood beside him, head inches away from matching at the height of where his shoulder was. They knelt to Lord Elrond just as Ravion had done before, though not facing up to meet eyes with the host- for they were not as well acquainted for years and years as Ravion was, and therefore owed more respect.

"Child of Númenor, Child of Dúnedain," said Elrond with a kind smile. He too, had knelt. He gently lifted the chin of his guest, and began folding back the hood, "Welcome, Althea. Daughter of Raumion, daughter of Ravion, daughter of the Light."

She was very young, having only seen twenty years. Very little traces of her ancient heritage were recognized, but it was there and it was prominent. Honest brown eyes like that of the rings of trees lit at the mention of '_welcome_,' and bore much resemblance to the man beside her.

"_Tula sinome_, come here, my child" Elrond said, and gathered the girl into his arms, "You are your grandfather's bearing..."

* * *

Thank you for reading.  
Elrond calls Ravion "Elendil" only as a form of endearment, as he greatly resembles King Elendil the Fair, being a close friend to the elves and all.  
Ravion and Althea are not by any means directly related to Elendil or being of royal lineage, just Dúnedain and descendants of the people from Númenor.  
That's all I can reveal for now, but I hope you enjoyed it!

EDIT: PK I cannot thank you enough for the review! I was so excited and could not believe my eyes when I refreshed the page and saw that little "1" next to Reviews.  
1\. Regarding how "very little traces of her heritage were recognized," I meant that Althea did not match up to the characteristics of her people: tall and I'd imagine them to be more intimidating than the average Man. I apologize for the confusion.  
2\. I'll be following a mix of both the movie and the book :)


	2. The Man in the Sun

"Please, join us for dinner," Elrond smiled, motioning his friends to walk through an arched corridor. Where the candles did not light the way, sunlight filtered in to illuminate the hallways.

Althea tried to walk with her best posture, chin up as she did to give herself an extra inch. In cities of Gondor, or Rohan, she would at least be of average height among the crowd. But here in Rivendell, she realized that was not the case. Elves towered over her by at least half a foot, and did not even bother to lower their heads when they spoke. They were so intimidating, beautiful, and ready to strike upon provocation. She walked beside her grandfather, ashamed that once again it was his height and status that would raise her eminence. As always, it was her grandfather, Ravion the Light, that would define her as the lithe and willowy elves looked at them with curiosity.

"Are you sure your other guests will not mind? We aren't even dressed for dinner," said Ravion, consciously aware of there being another company. He had been friends with Elrond long enough to know when he ached for a glass of wine and an evening of stories. He mentally filed a few worth guffawing to tell at the table.

"My friend, you are never dressed for dinner," Elrond smiled tiredly.

At the end of the corridor was a faint, merry round of laughter.  
They heard the words ring down the hall...

_"That the Man in the Moon himself  
came down one night to drink his fill."_

Elrond hesitated, furrowing his brows and cocked his head to the side, "And well, we have accommodated them so generously to where our other guests shouldn't mind-"

The merry-making grew louder and louder, and there was a symphony of thumping, banging, and clanging of mugs. The patient Elven host closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose deeply and let out an exasperated sigh.

"_The ostler has a tipsy cat  
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;  
And up and down he saws his bow"_

They finally got a set of steps when _**splat!**_  
.. something sticky and creamy darted through the air and landed on a stone pillar, inches from the left of Elrond's face, behind them.

"I am so terribly sorry, I-" Elrond's eyes widened with embarrassment, and whirled around to apologize, "It was a mistake of me to invite you to dinner with the other company. If you would like to settle in first, we can arrange another supper for you two by the balcony after your baths and-"

There were two tables of singing dwarves, with lettuce leaves drenched in spilled wine and ale sprawled all over the once beautiful silk cloth. Rolls of bread flew in every direction, and there was a great deal of stomping and yelling. Spoons, forks, and knives were used to drum and pound against the wooden surfaces.

One dwarf in a large, brown furry hat jumped and danced on the tables- the ear flaps flopped rhythmically as they sang:

"_Now squeaking high,  
now purring low,  
now sawing in the middle!"  
_

A roll of bread bounced away from the tables, down a couple stairs, and landed in front of Ravion's feet. Elrond shriveled in dread. Of all days his old friend decided to visit, it was an evening of whence he housed the rowdiest guests Rivendell had ever taken. He closed his eyes, resisting the urge to hold his head in distress.

A deeper, older voice broke through the dwarvish ruckus and sang in a rich vibrato:

_"So the cat on the fiddle played _

_hey-diddle-diddle!_

_a jig that would wake the dead"_

Ravion had grabbed the roll of bread, chucked it in no direction what-so-ever and knocked over an Elf maid's flute. She gasped as the instrument was smacked out of her hands, and everyone watched the roll of bread ricochet off and push a small harp out of the lap of an Elf man. Everything went silent, with the exception of a set of boots thumping rhythmically on the ground. All eyes looked towards the only moving being in the room: Great Ravion the Light.

Elrond and Althea looked at Ravion in horror, then glanced around at the other guests fervently. Elrond only pursed his lips in disapproval, secretly dying inside. And it was Althea whose cheeks grew visibly red and warm. She touched her face, flustered, as if her hands could cover up the shame her grandfather bestowed upon their family lineage for all ages of time to come. Of course, sitting at the table of honor were none other than Gandalf the Grey (whose mouth was slightly hanging in surprise and mid scoop of broth) and- was it really? Oh no, oh no- Thorin Oakenshield: son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the mountain, looking quite unamused and a little bit angry at the rude barging in of their dinner.

Some dwarves resumed and broke into another cloud of ruckus, continuing their food fight and yelling. The older ones glanced at each other disapprovingly.

The dwarf on the dinner table jumped down and patted Ravion on the lower back, nodding and smiling cheerfully, inviting him to the festivities. And together, they roared musically,

"_He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,  
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:  
'It's after three!' he said."_

Re-engaged in the merry making, some dwarves thrust their drinks in the air, shouting gleefully and welcoming the newcomer.

"Bofur!" The dwarf yelled, trying to alleviate his introduction above all the noise extending his short arm out to the man.  
"Ravion!" The man shook Bofur's hand furiously in delight. Finally, a jolly bunch who knows how to celebrate!

Bofur's face furrowed quizzically, and squinted at the man's face. How peculiar, how familiar, how similar to- AH! Before he could blurt anything, Ravion nodded at him and approached the table where the greater guests of honor sat.

Bofur stared quietly at his back in admiration, shyly taken aback. He fell deep into his thoughts, and the others were too busily engaged in noisy affairs to care about the newcomer.

The red faded away from Althea's cheeks when she witnessed the uncharacteristic silent demeanor that graced the uproarious dwarf who was just dancing on the tables not long ago. Her hand withdrew from her face as she immediately recognized the expression she had seen one too many times.

"It is awe," Althea said out loud, seeing that Elrond was watching Bofur's reaction too.  
"Pardon?" said Elrond, snapping out of his own bemusement.  
"They look at my grandfather in awe," She repeated, never looking away from Bofur.

"People will look to you the same," Elrond smiled, and redirected his gaze to the other table. He saw Gandalf's face registering who the surprise guest was, and the moment it clicked, the wizard smirked and tipped his head in cordially. Thorin, on the other hand, had a stern and resentful expression, as if he were ready to lecture the man on manners and respect. However, Thorin's face softened after Ravion introduced himself, and knelt before the dwarven king- his face, tilted downwards in great regards.

Thorin placed his hand on Ravion's shoulder, insisting that they meet each other eye to eye. The King of the Mountain mouthed something inaudible to everyone else but Gandalf, who reacted by raising his eyebrows and puffing his pipe in enjoyment.

"I can only hope to garner half the respect he has earned throughout his lifetime," Althea sighed, and smiled, shaking her head and ready to accept the fact she would never be as popular as Ravion. A little frown besmirched her beam, though, and it was enough for Elrond to pick up.

He looked at her seriously, and back at the radiance of her grandfather- who, ah, how curious, managed to make Thorin Oakenshield grin. Yes, what a legacy Ravion had created for himself..

"You are not one to live in his shadow," Elrond said quietly.  
"Thank you," Althea nodded, hoping to quickly dismiss their conversation. She had heard that line too many times for it to provide any consolation to her.

Because one cannot have shadows unless they stand in the sun. And he is but Ravion the Light. 

* * *

In case you haven't noticed, the title of this chapter alludes to both Ravion's title and the song Bofur was singing  
Thanks for reading!


	3. I Saw the Sea

The elves did what they could to replace the tablecloths, dirtied with jams and drenched with drink. Bread crumbs were lain about all over the floor, and bread _chunks_ were stuck on beloved statues.

"It's Grade A quality rabbit food, lass," The dwarf on Althea's right scoffed. He was Balin, an old and weathered one with white hair. His eyes twinkled in riddles and his laugh was hearty and honest.

She had chosen to kneel at one of the two tables to join for supper. Most of them were warm folk who excitedly shook her hand at introduction.

"Well, _I_ quite enjoy the food," said the hobbit, patting her shoulder in consolation and dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief with the other hand. Bilbo was of humble folk, a lover of comfort and a persistent believer in good food and hospitality.

Althea was just a head taller than the dwarves at the table, much to her relief. She was beginning to feel too small compared to the rest of the population in Rivendell. And much to her delight, it was her first time dining with these merry dwarves and a peculiar hobbit.

"Who is your companion?" asked Bilbo curiously, sipping from a goblet and inching to get a better look. It was such a splendid and unearthly sight to see a gentle glow emanate from Thorin.. Splendid, but unearthly. He almost expected it to be a mirage conjured by some master elf mages. But it was not the case.

Dori sneered. He, among the older dwarves, weren't too welcoming of Althea and Ravion's showing up uninvited.

"I apologize in advanced," Ravion announced, sliding out of his seat, "I should have introduced myself sooner, how very rude of me."

Óin stood up too, and tottered gruffly towards Ravion. Though the dwarf was considerably a good foot away from Ravion's chin, he did not hesitate to give him a piece of his mind. How dare Men? How could they waltz in and plop themselves on a cushion and make themselves comfortable amongst the company of dwarves, and this important company of all dwarves, _in the middle of a dinner?_ How dare _this _particular man approach Thorin Oakenshield with such ease?... _In the middle of a dinner?!_

"Look here, lad-" He started jabbing Ravion's chest with his index finger, ready to lecture.

"Master Óin," Ravion said calmly, locking eyes with his confronter, "I haven't seen you in exactly one hundred years."

Óin's face puckered, wildly taken aback at this stranger's casual conversing in such a hostile situation. How did he know his name? He tried to make sense of it. It sank in slowly when he tried to see the man underneath the wrinkles and the scars on his skin. And suddenly, it became clear. He saw a familiar face from one hundred years ago.

Óin whispered, eyes huge with a mixture of excitement and- of course, awe, "You, it's _you_."

Óin's expression softened, and his arm slunk back to his sides, and un-cinched a leather pouch attached at his belt. All fell silent, either being visited by a blurry memory from a century ago, or watching in wonder. The dwarves looked at the old leather pouch in Óin's hands, and curiously back at Ravion. The older, once-bitter ones suddenly understood who the man was, and sat in realization.

"My friend," Ravion looked at the little bag with a sad smile, "Why do you keep such an old thing at your persons?"

"Because of you, Ravion, I know what I must do for my people," Óin's hard expression softened, just as Thorin's did. And his strong voice trembled as he projected himself, "I found my duty, and my duty lies with the wounded."

"What, what's going on?" Bilbo asked, bewildered at the silence that fell upon his rowdy travel companions. All the times they have been quiet, he could count on one hand.

"My grandfather, Ravion the Light, served his time as a Ranger of the North. He was a medic," Althea explained, her gaze upon their reunion unwavering, "He was assigned to help protect the far west lands of Eriador. And his post was by that of the Ered Luin."

"Ah.. The Blue Mountains," said Bilbo.

Althea observed everyone's reactions in the room. The musical elves were still, like pliant trees in the background. Their eyes lowered, in symbolic acknowledgment and the extent to which Ravion shaped the lives of those he met. In Gandalf's knowing blue eyes was a flicker of satisfaction. In Elrond's neutrality, she found the sentiment he harbored for his friend. And there was Thorin Oakenshield, who stared in fixed respect for Ravion.

Althea's head turned slightly to evaluate the remaining twelve dwarves, and one by one, saw gratitude in each pair of eyes. Her mind slipped away, wondering of the stories behind each one, curious of what connection they had struck with her grandfather, and questioned-

She was startled in mid-thought when her eyes caught another's: blue, brave, and fearless. It was a young dwarf from the other table. He smiled, and nodded politely at her, but never intending to break his gaze.

Embarrassed for the second time that evening, a bit of warmth crept up to Althea's cheeks. She carefully tilted her head back to her grandfather, and was a bit surprised to catch him glancing instantaneously at the young dwarf.

And though it was only for a split second, it happened.

Her grandfather raised his brow in amusement.


	4. Counting Blessings

_I have to admit, I've been refreshing the stats page every hour when I get the chance.  
Thank you so much for sticking with me!_  
_Thank you so much for the favorites and the follows._  
_And, lowkey- I do a fist pump every time there's a new view._

_I actually had a dream last night where I refreshed the page and found seven reviews!_  
_Needless to say, I was a bit disheartened to see that there were none haha._  
_I look forward to the moment when someone has the time to leave one._  
_I'm really excited to know what you guys think!_

_Anyway, I'm blubbering on too much._  
_Please enjoy._

* * *

"I don't quite understand, Master Bombur," Althea sighed, cradling her forehead in confusion. She had volunteered to help with washing some of the dishes, in spite of the furious objections from their gracious elven hosts. Though, she didn't exactly take up this chore entirely out of kindness- Althea secretly hoped to gain some sort of praise for her unselfishness.

However, it turned out that one of the dwarves deserved the praise more. According to Lindir, from the first day they arrived, this particular dwarf insisted on happily assisting the elves to clean up. He was a gruff one, with shaggy gray hair and had a savage look in his eyes. A piece of an orc axe was lodged in his forehead, rendering him somewhat inarticulate in common language. To communicate, he would grunt and use violent hand gestures.

"Master Bombur-" Althea started, but was interrupted by the dwarf shaking his head, grunting impatiently, and holding her hands down to silence her. He had done this every time she addressed him, and it was beginning to annoy her.

"You are humbly mistaken, he is not Mister Bombur, but Mister_ Bifur_," said a voice behind them in a tone so soothing and calm, it relieved her of annoyance.

Althea turned around to see the same blue eyes that greeted her at dinner. He was a blond dwarf possessing a self assured expression, confident in every stride he took. Righteous though not smug in demeanor, the dwarf leaned against a wooden pillar in amusement, never intending to break away from their locked gazes first.

And _oh_, he was not too much shorter than she.  
But wait.. What did he just say?..

And then came the third wave of embarrassment. Her necked whipped to her side and saw Master _Bifur_, arms crossed and nodding furiously in agreement.

"I-I'm so sorry Master Bifur! I didn't, I just," Althea stammered frantically and grabbed Bifur's hands in apology, cursing the culture of dwarves to bear such similar names to each other. Bifur grunted an equivalent of a sigh and nodded slower, accepting her bumbling mishap. Why couldn't everyone just understand him the first time around? The world would be so much easier. He smiled and patted Althea's hands forgivingly, taking the washcloth away from her palms and motioned her to leave. She wasn't too exceptional at drying anyway, and it slowed him down.

Althea laughed sheepishly and turned around to face the younger dwarf. He kept the same complacent smile, and tilted his head in curiosity.

"My name is Althea," She said.  
"Fili," He said, bringing himself to stop leaning, "At your service."

He bowed to her, and she politely returned in lowering her head.

"Thank you for correcting me, Fili," Althea said, ashamed of her mix-up, "I believe that Master Bifur and I would not have been on good terms after drying all the plates."

"Well, then you understand why I could not have allowed that to happen to you," He chuckled.

He said this was such a twinkle in his eye, it made her wonder why it wasn't enough to bring comfort to all those who grieve in this world.

* * *

"Thorin, you cannot do this," Ravion shook his head furiously, and paced around the stone ledge. His heart jumped quicker, rushing along with the sound of the waterfall behind them. He glanced at the map Elrond held in his hands and grimaced.

"I thought you, of all people, would understand," Thorin muttered, though a bit pained he did sound.

"So this truly is your purpose, to enter the mountain?" Elrond breathed in pure vexation, imagining all the toil and anguish the dwarves would bring by reclaiming Erebor- by disturbing Smaug. He cocked his head towards Thorin and hissed under his breath, "There are some who would not deem it wise."

Gandalf shuffled quietly, his eyes avoiding to meet confrontation with anyone at all.

"I see those adversaries among me," Thorin replied bitterly, snatching his map back. There was no reason to hold his tongue against Lord Elrond, for he was considered no friend of dwarves.. But Ravion, how could Ravion go against his wishes? Ravion knew better. Ravion knew the struggle of his people. He knows the burden of being homeless.

"I thought you would side with me," Thorin said loudly, his words intending to smite, "It was wrong to think so highly of you."

Ravion only shook his head regretfully, and turned to leave. Thorin remained unmoving, and gripped the map in severe resentment.

"You mislead my people to find you a friend-"

"And you lead your people to find death!" Ravion whirled back, retaliating to the dwarf's ungratefulness. He grabbed Thorin by the collar and lifted him to meet his eyes, much to everyone's surprise. What Thorin saw in the man was a burning fire, and old wounds still left open, still trodden on after all these years, "What right have you?"

"I have the only right," Thorin said firmly.

They saw the rights and faults in each other's insistence. They acknowledged the risks and the prize. But neither would move.

"Thorin Oakenshield, you are king under the mountain whether you have Erebor or not," it pained Ravion to think his friends gone, incinerated to nothing more than soot to step on.

"There is no choice for me," Thorin said, the hate in his voice had withered, "But I can give it to my people."

In the silence, Ravion understood. He brought Thorin to the ground, and knew he didn't even need to apologize. They nodded, and Ravion turned to take leave for his chambers.

For although they did not agree with each other, Thorin and Ravion held each other to the highest regards. They did not need to come to a mutual understanding.

Their friendship was worth far greater.


	5. Left a Mark

Night had fallen and blanketed the elvish valley, seducing all with the lulling secrecy of stars. The light of the moon shyly cast an ethereal glow to the running waters of the hidden refuge. Soft winds tousled the trees and grass, praising them for growing so effortlessly.

Fili rested his pipe on his chest to expel a faint smoke ring. He watched it rise and frame the shape of a whole moon on top of the crescent. He was not shy when it came to lounging, and clearly made himself at home as he lied on the elvish balcony: head resting against the column, boots propped on the railing. Rivendell was beautiful, no doubt, but too boring for his likes.

The sound of charcoal sticks being smoothed onto parchment behind him blended with the whispering breezes and the trickling of streams. It had been white noise all this time, but the sound of Althea blowing something caught his attention.

He turned around and saw her lift up a paper full of curvy lines, circles and swirls. Curious, he left his pipe on the railing and jumped off the balcony. Althea tried to excuse herself after washing the dishes to work on a project of some sort, but Fili insisted to join her.

Kili had been busy fawning over bows of elvish make for Fili to really care. So honestly, he really had nothing else better to do. A new face was, to say the least, refreshing. And it didn't hurt that the new face was pleasant to look at.

"It's the topography of the Weather Hills," Althea said, unraveling the scroll for him to see it all. Her eyes followed his fingers as it traced over the intricate lines she made.

"Show me, how do you read all of this?" Fili asked, confused and a little bit impressed.

Althea smiled tiredly, and set the rulers and her compass off the paper. She had been working on this since her grandfather insisted on visiting Amon Sûl, the watchtower built during Elendil's reign, after seeing Fornost. They made these treks for her to discover a connection with her roots. Ravion had done this with her father, and while her father was no longer around, he made it his mission to do it for her. And perhaps, someday, she would do the same for her own children.

"Where the lines are sparse, the land is flat. Where the lines are close, it indicates a steeper peak," She said, pointing to a more concentrated area towards the south, "This is Weathertop, the highest summit of the Weather Hills.. We estimate it to be over a thousand feet."

Fili looked up at her, even more confused, "How do you measure the height of hill?"

"We use theodolites," Althea started to get excited. Finally, someone showing interest in her work, "It's an instrument that measures the angle from the flat ground to the very top. Because we know the distance from the theodolite to the hill, we can use that angle in an equation to find the vertical height."

"It.. Well," Fili's eyebrows narrowed, trying to make sense of it all and to no avail. Before he could say no, he noticed the joy that sparked in her eyes.

With the way Althea looked at him, he couldn't bear bring her disappointment.

Too shy and too ashamed to ask questions, he pretended to stare at the drawing some more and then nodded, "AH! Yes, yes I understand completely."

Althea beamed, truly believing in his act. Fili smiled, uncertain of what to expect, quietly praying that she wouldn't ask him to join on an excavation to calculate the height of the Misty Mountains. He'd rather eat the rabbit food than to be found out for being a fool.

They settled down quietly. As Althea went back to sort away her stationary and papers, Fili was watching the wax on a candle melt uncomfortably. He did not want to leave so suddenly- her project was fascinating, and he wanted to ask of her travels... but he did not want to risk being revealed for not understanding Althea's complicated scholarly matters.

"Did you know that most maps of Middle Earth are inaccurate?" Althea said, breaking the silence. She looked up at him with that same expression he didn't want to risk losing.

"Why is that?" Fili asked, smiling from relief.

"The world is so huge, and cartographers don't travel all the lands," She explained, placing her finger on top of her drawing of Weathertop, "So many of them are imprecise copies of the others, and some are just drawn with educated guesses. There might have been a very accurate map at some point, but the world keeps changing. Towns now aren't the same as they were in the Second Age."

Fili gazed at her seriously, his eyes lowered in recognition of her dream, "Then you shall make a map unlike any other. And never again will anyone be lost in the forest of Fangorn!"

The dreamy look on Althea's face never faltered, even as Fili continued to admire her by the side of the desk.

"Someday," She said, closing her eyes and imagining a future for herself. Maybe she would be Althea the Navigator, Althea the Wise, Althea the Seeker. And one day, instead of having to be introduced beside her grandfather, everyone would be able to recognize her- with or without him.

"They look like fingerprints," Fili's voice lifted her slowly from her dream, and he gently moved her thumb aside.

"I never noticed that," Althea laughed, pressing her thumb on top of an open bottle of ink, and pushed it down onto a bare corner of her project. The two of them inspected her fingerprint, and agreed that topographical maps bore much resemblance to it.

Althea motioned Fili to do mark his print too, which he frowned in response.

"I cannot do that," He said, shaking his head, "This is yours, and you dedicated much time to it."

"But I dedicate it to your discovery, Master Fili," Althea laughed. It was a wonder that she didn't notice the similarities before.

He laughed and shrugged, putting his hands up in defeat, "I suppose if the lass insists."

And they bid each other a "good evening," and a "see you in the morning," and sauntered off to bed. How lovely it is to have made a new friend, they both thought as they headed in opposite directions, reviewing their day in their head.

Fili smiled to himself, recalling the zealous expression Althea had.  
Althea smiled to herself, remembering how captivated Fili was. 

* * *

Later that night, Ravion walked into the study room Elrond had set aside for Althea and himself. He only intended to sit at the balcony to reminisce and smoke in privacy, but a scroll on the desk caught his eye.

So she finished it, he thought, unrolling the paper. Ravion exhaled a long trail of smoke, as he looked over her work and made sure all levels were accounted for.. But something in the corner caught his eye.

There were two thumbprints: one quiet small, and the other being notably larger.

He cocked in his curiously, and smiled, already guessing what events transpired not too long ago- Ah, but isn't that a mystery? How the body has a geography of its own too. How something as small as fingers could be so alike to something so enormous as a mountain.

Ravion blew a cloud of smoke toward the candle, putting it out. He walked over to the balcony and heaved himself upon the railing. And there, he thought of a time where he found his own love.


	6. Wheat Fields at Sunset

As much as her grandfather bragged about being able to fluff up travel packs to mimic the softness of clouds, nothing compares to the comfort a real pillow provided. She woke just after dawn, having slept peacefully in an actual chamber for the first time in about a month.

Althea twirled a stray vine with her fingers, dipping it into the cool bathwater and shyly hummed a tune she heard, often sung by the children of Bree. At first, she was surprised to see how many elves were up so early in the morning.. then felt quickly ashamed for being so underexposed to the world when Lord Elrond informed her that his elvish kin did not sleep.

Ah, how much more of this world she had yet to learn. Althea closed her eyes and submerged her head underwater, with her knees brought up against her chest.

Her feet were no longer in contact with the bottom of the bath, and began to float slowly. She unrolled her legs and sprung herself up, her nose hovering right above the surface of the water. So far, bathing early in the morning was indeed one of her best ideas.

Althea frowned, noting how stubby her legs were compared to the wonderfully elegant elves and slumped in jealousy and insecurity. She pointed her foot more in attempt to give herself the illusion of a more elegant figure, and sighed, dejected. To no avail.

She recalled the maidens of Rivendell having such mesmerizing appearances: glowing complexions, graceful figures, regal demeanors. Their hair looked finer than the silks in the town markets, and _so_ much more manageable. Her own was so thick, she gave up attempting to tame it entirely because her hand would hurt too much from the hair splinters while brushing. Althea grabbed the lot of it and combed it to the best of her ability underwater, wishing she was born a little bit more lucky.

'Oh, but that's not fair!' said a voice in her head, 'They're of a different race after all.'

Even so, Althea did not have the curves and more notably, the strength of milkmaids. She had no breasts to boast like the barmaids.

She stood up in the bath, examining herself carefully, viciously picking at every little thing wrong with her figure and unfairly comparing herself to others.

Her ancestor, Elendil the Tall, was known to walk amongst the elves at level height, towering even over some. Gilraen, the daughter of Dírhael, was known to have hair that glistened so similar to starlight, that _she _was admired by the elvish. Her own grandfather loomed over Men, and was generally unmatched in all his doings from combat, to medical service, to basket weaving, and his abilities to make a difference in everyone's lives. All of these peoples, Dunedain. All of these peoples, carrying their heritage so gracefully and so effortlessly and priding themselves in representing their bloodline.

And there was Althea. Barely Dunedain. Too thin, too scrawny, too short to proudly embody her great people.

* * *

"She's quite well versed in academics," Fili said jauntily, reminiscing of how passionate Althea looked when she thoroughly explained her work to him.

"Oh, a scholar I see," Kili laughed at the mere thought of his brother befriending someone bookish, "Perhaps you should study arithmetic with Ori too!"

Fili sighed, his eyebrows creasing in irritation. The horrible memories of learning math as a lad flooded back to him. He was an avid believer of setting the subject on fire. Nothing was as awful as arithmetic. Nothing.

"Brother, I kid," Kili smiled, sympathizing in his brother's ideals of the burning certain matters, "I recall seeing Ravion's kin at the dinner. She seems very lovely."

"Her company is most delightful," replied Fili. He didn't even seem to take the time to think about what was really being discussed.

Kili furrowed his brows and contemplated for a moment. He shrugged, "Well, I'm sure Alstia is a delightful companion indeed but-"

"Alstia? Her name is Althea," Fili interjected, completely missing the whole point once again, rendering his brother somewhat taken aback.. Was Fili really not seeing what Kili was trying to say?

"Um," Kili blinked, gathering himself, "Ah, yes, Althea. My apologies. Althea is lovely isn't she?- I mean once again, I can't say I fancy her myself, she's too thin, she's got those long legs. And although she has very pretty hair, it's just that she hasn't enough facial hair for me."

"But, I mean, her eyes are really something are't they? They're different from Ravion's and they seem much warmer," Kili went on, the image of Althea attentively looking at everyone at the dinner forming clearer in his mind.

"Oh, I never thought about that. But you're right," Fili said.

Ravion's eyes were a striking silver blue, seeming to peer into your soul and into your future. Althea's were a very light brown eyes- reflective and honest. And she did have pretty hair. It was long and wavy and unruly even- but it was beautiful in the way that it resembled wheatfields gathered humbly together at the sunset.

"Although, like I said- not enough facial hair," Kili insisted again, hoping his brother wouldn't get any wrong ideas.

"Right," Fili nodded, "Not enough beard."

However, Fili didn't quite find that to be a deal breaker.

* * *

Thank you so much for pointing out the missing segment, Vanafindiel! I just went back to fix it.  
I actually just finished off my round of finals last week but I'm determined not to abandon it haha.  
Please never stop reviewing me, I love reading about what you have to say *-* (your feedback is immensely insightful, dear) 


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